The Watch
by rachelthenerdfighter
Summary: John Watson, retired army doctor, has a strange pocket watch in his possession. one that he hasn't paid any attention to until now. Wholock with established Johnlock. (please note that I haven't seen a bit of Eleven's story, so this fanfic operates under the assumption that the Doctor is still single and not married to River Song.) MERRY CHRISTMAS DALEKSANDDETECTIVES!
1. Chapter 1

"John?"

John glanced up from the paper to see Sherlock stumble in, wearing just his underwear and bathrobe. He slid the paper up to hide the growing smirk on his face. Ever since they started dating a few months back, Sherlock had become much more lazy in what he decided to wear. "You look lovely this morning."

"Oh shut up," he replied, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "I wanted to ask you about something." He held out his open hand. "Do you know what this is? I keep finding it in your trouser pockets when I do the laundry."

It was a pocketwatch. A silver pocketwatch with strange markings on one side. John frowned and put down the paper, slightly confused. "Oh, that old thing? I guess I keep forgetting about it... hell, I can't even remember where I got it from." He smiled and laughed a little. "Must've gotten it when I was a kid or something."

Sherlock nodded and set it down next to John's seat. "So it turns out that the murderer wasn't wearing open-toed shoes, which means that..." and he sat down next to John, rambling about a case they were working on.

But neither could really forget the watch.

Days turned to weeks, which then turned to months. Sherlock and John were still together, and neither could've been happier. They had started to sleep in the same room, and for her birthday John bought Mrs. Hudson a pair of soundproof headphones.

John found himself thinking more and more about the strange pocketwatch.

He had started turning it over in his hands absently as he watched Sherlock inspect crime scenes. Running his finger over it in his pocket while he was at the doctor's office. Placing it on the bedside table before he joined Sherlock for the night. Keeping it close wherever he went.

The one thing he didn't do? Open it.

Sherlock of course noticed the increased interest in the watch. He'd taken to inspecting it as well. Before John woke up in the morning, Sherlock would reach over him and pluck it from the bedside table. He would hold it up to the light, running a finger over the strange and intricate circular design on one side. And sometimes, though he would never admit it to anyone who asked him, if he closed his eyes while holding the watch, he would see... visions. Dreams, almost. The sights were so strange that those could really be the only two words to describe them.

A blue Police Box. Men made of metal. A city inside a glass bubble. A library that took up an entire planet. And always a man, one man, the same man, but in many _many_ different bodies.

And sometimes, after the visions, after he opened his eyes, he'd hear a voice. The world would still be asleep; the only place it could possibly come from would be the watch. _You can keep him for now. He doesn't have to open it yet. But he will eventually._

_Enjoy it while you can._

No matter what the words were, they always carried a sense of finality to them. As though the end was approaching. And it scared Sherlock. It scared him so much. Things were going so perfectly with John; he had no intention of giving him up, he couldn't. And so Sherlock would pull in closer, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend (which, for him, was still a very strange and childish word to use), and hold him tight until John would wake up.

John would wake up to Sherlock's arms wrapped tight around his torso, hands clinging to the fabric covering his chest. It was touching, but strange; Sherlock wasn't exactly the sentimental type. It was for that reason that John decided to take things slow, slower than when he was dating anyone else. But he would say nothing, and for the rest of the day, Sherlock would be back to normal.

_His time is coming._

_The time is coming soon._

_Enjoy it while you can._

_The time is now._

One day John awoke to Sherlock clinging to him in the same position as before. Except this time there was a wet splotch on his shoulder. Frowning, he turned to face his detective, and found tears running into the pillows. Without hesitation, John pulled Sherlock into a hug. "Sherlock, sweetheart, what's wrong?" he asked softly. Sherlock just shook his head in reply. John placed a kiss on his nose and gave him another squeeze before sitting up. "I'm sorry Sherlock, I really am; I don't want to leave you like this, but I have to head to work. Can you tell me what's going on at least while I'm getting ready?" Sherlock shook his head again and buried his face in his pillow. "Okay then, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, John said with a sigh. He gave Sherlock's shoulder a sympathetic squeeze, and started getting dressed.

"Mrr ovfr ooh."

John glanced over at Sherlock, halfway done with buttoning up his shirt. "Sorry, did you say something?"

"Mrr ovfr ooh!"

"Sherlock you can't speak into the pillow and expect me to understa-"

"I said 'I love you,' okay?" Sherlock snapped. "It's obvious. Now leave me alone."

John stared at Sherlock for a moment, his mouth hanging slightly open. Sherlock wasn't exactly the sentimental type. Describing how he felt was very hard for him, especially when he felt like the emotion was being shown. So when he did dictate his feelings, he truly meant it; these were never simply offhand remarks. An immense feeling of love and affection radiated within John, so much so that he couldn't keep the smile off his face. Quietly he finished putting on his clothes before kneeling beside Sherlock. "I love you too," he said softly, and kissed the top of his head. "If you want to talk about anything, just give me a call, okay?" Sherlock nodded, and John pocketed his watch before heading into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.

That was the last time Sherlock Holmes talked to John Watson.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't until late afternoon that Sherlock finally managed to pull himself out of bed. Wrapping a sheet around himself, he wandered into the living area to find a cold cup of coffee with some equally cold bacon and eggs sitting on the table. John never did bother to acknowledge Sherlock's disdain towards food... He smiled and, despite the fact that his brain didn't function as well while he digested, sat down and started eating, deciding that he wouldn't leave the house. John wouldn't open the watch while he was at work; even he wasn't thick enough to think it was unimportant. So Sherlock had to be at home to stop him from opening it. That must've been what the watch meant by _The time is now_. What other explanation could there be?

But thanks to some persistent phone calls from Lestrade and a threat for yet _another_ drugs bust, Sherlock had to get dressed and head down to a crime scene. He rated the crime an 8 due to food, but thanks to his desire to return home and a tedious suspect chase, the case was solved in four hours.

"So, how'd you know this time?" Lestrade asked as Sherlock unceremoniously pushed the woman towards him for handcuffs.

"Her house. No salt in the kitchen. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a more pressing issue to attend to." He turned to go, but before he could, Lestrade grabbed him by the shoulder. "Don't let your criminal get away," Sherlock said softly.

"Yeah, 'course not," Lestrade replied, snapping the second handcuff closed. "But hey, we were wondering if you wanted to join us down at the pub for a bit? Seeing as this is the fiftieth case you've solved with Scotland Yard."

Sherlock stared at him for a moment. He couldn't be serious... "Thank you for wasting my time," he said tersely, and walked away, holding an arm out for a taxi.

He arrived at Baker Street half an hour later. The door was unlocked; a feeling of dread settled in the pit of his stomach. _John's home_. Maybe there was still time. Maybe John hadn't opened the watch yet. Maybe this whole _The time is now _could be avoided.

He opened the door and walked up the stairs to the flat. John was sitting at the table, staring at the silver watch. Oh good. It was closed. Smiling with relief, Sherlock hung up his coat and scarf. "How was work today?" Sherlock asked, sitting down next to John.

John glanced up and gave Sherlock a sad look. A look that made Sherlock's heart jump to his throat. "John, is everything alright?" he asked, giving John's hand a squeeze.

John stared down at their hands, and slowly pulled his away. "I'm not John Watson," he said softly.

Sherlock laughed. "Don't be silly, of course you are. Who else could you be?"

"Would you believe an alien with two hearts that travels in a teleporting time-travelling blue Police Box who works to save humanity from other aliens?"

"That's ridiculous."

"That's who I am."

Sherlock stared at John (well, the person who was once John).

"I'm the Doctor," no-longer-John said, extending a hand for Sherlock to shake. "I used to be John Watson. But that changed when he opened the watch."

Sherlock ignored the gesture. "You realize how ridiculous this sounds, right?"

"Ridiculous enough to believe?"

"John if this is some kind of joke-"

"Was John the type to make jokes like this?"

"No you aren't, so I don't understand-"

"It's because I'm not John Watson. 'Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.' You said so yourself."

"Yes, and this is the impossible." Sherlock's voice had become far more strained and tight than before. "You're John, you always were John, and you should stop this right now because it's scaring me-"

Sherlock cut himself off. Never once had he admitted that he was scared. Not to Mrs. Hudson. Not to Molly. Not even to John.

And there was that look again. That gut-wrenching guilty why-does-it-have-to-be-like-this look. "Stop it," Sherlock snapped, and turned away, rubbing his fingertips on his temples.

"Once he was aware of the watch, there was nothing I could do. The temptation to open it only increases as time goes on. I'm surprised he resisted so long to be honest."

The words were meant to be reassuring, but they struck Sherlock like another blow to the chest. _I found it. I showed it to him. I caused this. John is... gone. And it's my fault._

"For what it's worth, you both had a fantastic relationship. Before he opened it, he saw his future with you and-"

"Go."

Not-John gave a frown of confusion. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"I said go!" Sherlock spun around to face the person who had taken John's place. "I need John. I do not need a shoddy replacement. Nor do I need said shoddy replacement's pity!"

"I really didn't mean to-"

"Well I'm afraid you did." He started pacing back and forth across the flat. "Good God, he even calls himself a doctor," Sherlock muttered, pacing back and forth.

"It is my name after all-"

"Shut. Up." Sherlock shot a glare in the Doctor's direction. "You might be a doctor, but you're not my doctor. So either give him back or leave. I do not like seeing his face and knowing that he's no longer there so spare me some pain and get. Out."

* * *

**AN: I am SO sorry about the wait! I'm working on the 3rd chapter right now though!**


	3. Chapter 3

The Doctor left. Life went on.

Mrs. Hudson finally asked Sherlock where John was. "He left," he said simply, not looking up from his experiment.

"What? But that makes no sense, you two were so happy together!"

Sherlock didn't say anything for a moment. Then "He left."

"I ought to talk to him. To put you through something like this-"

"No," Sherlock said, glancing up from his microscope. He took a shuddering breath and said "Don't. I'm fine. it doesn't matter. I'm fine."

Naturally Mrs. Hudson didn't believe him.

* * *

The next person to ask was Lestrade.

"Hey Sherlock, has John been visiting family or something? He hasn't been coming to crime scenes with you lately."

Sherlock tightened his grip on his small magnifying glass, but didn't answer.

"Uh... Sherlock, you okay there mate?"

He wouldn't answer. He couldn't. How could he? How could he possibly expect Lestrade to understand that by keeping him tied up in some silly case, he essentially killed John Watson?

But it was bound to happen sooner or later. The watch had made John irresistibly curious, the voice inside begging him to open up, and good God why didn't he just get rid of that thing while he had the chance?

_Fear. You deleted fear. Sentiment brought it back, didn't it._

Sherlock stood up, snapping his magnifying glass closed and stuffing it in his pocket. "The man your looking for is Jeffrey Snow, age 47, and he works at the Abbot Library. Goodbye." And with a final sweeping glare to everyone on the team, he turned and walked away.

Not before hearing Sally mutter "No showing off? Wonder what's gotten into him?"

And Anderson mutter back "Shut up and just be grateful."

* * *

He lost his temper with Sarah.

"Hey Sherlock," the voice on the other end of the phone said. "John hasn't been coming into work recently, and he hasn't phoned in to say why. Do you-"

Well, he didn't lose his temper right away. He hung up on her first.

He lost his temper when she called him again.

"I thought I made it clear that I had no interest in talking to you," he growled.

"Look, I'm not trying to cause trouble, I just-"

But once again she was speaking to the air.

Until she called for a third time.

"Leave. Me. Alone," Sherlock said through clenched teeth.

"Not until you tell me what's going on!" Sarah snapped back.

Sherlock was gripping the phone so hard he was surprised it didn't break. "I don't have to tell you anything," he said coldly. "John is no longer here and to be honest I couldn't care less. And if I never had to hear your _pathetic_ excuse for a voice again, it would be too soon. Now please, for your sanity and for my own, never contact me again."

There was silence at the other end of the line. Then "Well. I'm glad he got out while he could. John actually cared about you. Too bad you didn't feel the same. Bye Sherlock." And this time it was Sarah who ended the call.

Sherlock held the phone away from his ear, staring at what once was John's chair. After a few minutes, he pressed the button to hang up.

* * *

The first to rule the Mind Palace of Sherlock Holmes was a queen.

She was proud and severe. She had neither time nor patience for kindness and courtesy. She was clothed in the colors of death, blood, pain, and uncertainty.

She was the Work. She had no need for a throne, since she insisted on standing above all else.

But then John Watson.

Suddenly the Work was finding herself to have a much smaller domain.

She was joined by a king. Unlike the Work, he was kind and humble. He had no need for a throne either, but for a very different reason. He sat on the floor, so that he could be with you. He dressed in warmth, comfort, happiness and home.

He was the Doctor.

_How ironic._

The Doctor's domain grew larger and the Work's domain grew smaller. She grew forgetful. When the Doctor was ripped from his position, the Work was unsure how to rule so much once again.

Almost clueless.

But she was proud. She would never allow anyone to know that she was struggling. Life had to go on. There was still work to be done.

* * *

Sherlock spun the needle around in his fingers.

Too much time had passed since John had left. Before when he was without a case, John was there to help. But the situation was much different now.

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

The needle slipped easily under his skin.

_Come back Doctor. I was wrong. I do need you. Please come back._


End file.
